by Eric Brown
He thought of his daughter, dead these past six years and kept in suspended animation until a cure for her disease might be found . . .
He knew that he should not hope for miracles, but he was unable to stop himself.
Lalla said, “The Avoel were never dead, Mr Hendrick. We assumed so at first—that was what my colleague told Jacobius. We mistranslated what the Avoel told us. Later, I learned the truth.”
“The truth?”
“The Avoel individuals placed in the root systems down here are what they call kassallay. We would call them shaman. They are drugged, enwrapped in the sustaining roots, and remain here for almost four weeks. They believe they’re granted visions of the afterlife and great wisdom, contact with their ancestors and through them foresight into the future of their people. Now they will return to their tribes and be revered and guide their people into the future.”
He should have known that some things were just too good to be true . . .
Tiana whispered, “It’s remarkable, and beautiful.”
“And corrupted by Jacobius to his own selfish ends,” Lalla finished.
The third resurrected Avoel joined its fellows. Only then did the second part of the ceremony begin—this one involving the humans.
Led by Father Jacobius, the bearers of the corpses moved down the central channel and climbed the slope of the amphitheatre. When they came to a stalactite root, the bearers stopped and lowered their bier. Jacobius stepped towards the root and made the sign of the cross before it, and four Avoel stepped forward and with speed and dexterity slit the root into a hundred strands.
Hendrick leaned forward, watching with appalled fascination as the first human corpse was lifted from the bier and divested of its winding sheet. Naked, it was placed upright amidst the root’s strands.
Father Jacobius knelt and the humans behind him raised their voices in soulful prayer. Jacobius stood then lifted his arms to the heavens.
Then the four Avoel got to work, braiding the fibrous strands with care and reverence around the human corpse, plaiting the roots around its emaciated flesh and prominent bones.
Only then did Hendrick realise that Lalla was weeping beside him. Tiana moved to her lover’s side and held her, murmuring her name.
“Father Jacobius,” Lalla wept, “persuaded his congregation that he could give them renewed life—life after death. He brought them here a month ago and showed them the miracle of what he called the Avoel resurrection.” She shook her head. “He is a cynical, evil con man . . .” She turned and stared at Hendrick and Tiana. “He accepts donations of thousands of units from the Chosen and gives them poison and they die a painless death in anticipation of experiencing afterlife . . .” She stared at Hendrick. “Now do you see why you’ve got to alert the authorities on Earth to what’s going on here? The Church has the police and politicians on its side; we need to get the truth to Earth. Then,” she said, staring at the four Avoel plaiting the corpse down below. “Then my mother might not have sacrificed her life in vain.”
“Lalla!” Tiana said, shocked, taking the small woman in her arms.
Lalla went on, “Not all the Avoel are happy about Jacobius’s interference. They are split on the issue, with a faction opposing human intervention in what is a sacred Avoel ritual.” She gestured to the dozen Avoel squatting nearby and staring into the amphitheatre. “The rift threatens to tear Avoelian society apart—yet another reason Earth needs to intervene to stop Jacobius and his Church’s sacrilege.”
Hendrick stared down into the amphitheatre. “Are these the first humans to be . . . sacrificed?”
“The first three corpses underwent the procedure a month ago,” Lalla said, adding bitterly, “And in a few minutes, they’ll be . . . unwrapped, and then Jacobius’s evil will be revealed to his congregation.”
Hendrick stared at the congregated faithful down below, and what he saw made his blood run cold. He had assumed that they had been hidden by the mass of other humans, but as the crowd surged forward to witness the plaiting of the first human corpse, Hendrick made out the tall figure of his wife, Maatje, and at her feet the silver torpedo-shaped suspension pod containing his daughter.
Beside him,Tiana said, “What is it, Matt?”
He pointed. “Maatje,” he said. “She has the pod, my daughter . . .”
She said something but he failed to make out her words. Fear pulsed through him, then panic. If they were to give Samantha to the alien roots, remove her from suspension for just a few minutes . . .
He had to stop them.
A split second after that thought, another occurred to him: Maatje and Samantha were down there, but where was Emanuel Hovarth?
The answer came a second later, as he turned to Lalla, intending to plead with her to help him stop what was about to take place down there.
“Don’t move! Raise your arms and remain very, very still.”
Hovarth stood beside a tumorous root, a tall shadowy figure in the halflight of the cavern. Hendrick felt his heart pound in his chest and a rising tide of hatred towards the man who had stolen his wife and daughter.
Hovarth stepped forward, a pulse gun gripped in his left hand.
Lalla made a move. She leapt forward, directing her flashlight towards Hovarth and charging. Tiana cried out in panic and Hovarth fired. An electric crackle filled the air and Lalla collapsed as if pole-axed. Hovarth turned the weapon towards Tiana and fired again, and she crumpled to the ground. Hendrick dropped to his knees before the tiny woman and reached out. “Tiana!”
He felt for her pulse.
Hovarth said, “Stunned, Matt. You don’t think for a minute that I’d kill them?”
Hendrick looked around for the Avoel who had accompanied them this far, but the aliens had dissolved into the shadows.
He grippedTiana’s warm hand and stared up at Hovarth. “You can’t go through with this!”
“Desperate situations call for desperate measures, Matt.”
“You’re a surgeon, for Christ’s sake. A scientist! You can’t believe in such superstition!”
“It works for the Avoel,” Hovarth said. “According to Jacobius . . .”
“Jacobius is a liar, a charlatan,” Hendrick spat. “If you take Samantha from suspension and subject her to . . . to this farce, you’ll kill her!”
Hovarth shook her head. “I’m not a complete fool, Matt. I want proof first.”
“Proof?”
Hovarth gestured down the slope with the pulse gun. “Before we consent to have Samantha embraided, I told Jacobius that we want to witness the resurrection of the humans who underwent kashanshar a month ago. Then we’ll see if there is indeed hope for Samantha”
“You’re a fool, Hovarth!”
The man tipped his handsome head, regarding Hendrick quizzically. “I would have thought, with the life of your daughter at stake, you might at least have suspended some of your cynicism and kept an open mind.”
Hendrick shook his head. “As much as I’d like to believe, Hovarth— and Christ knows how I want Samantha to live again—I can’t accede to this superstitious charade.”
“Well, let’s see who is right, shall we? Turn around slowly and walk towards the gathering. I can’t say that Maatje will be pleased to see you, but it’s only fair that you should have the chance to witness your daughter’s salvation.”
Hendrick remained facing the man. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe . . . ?”
Was that a flicker of doubt that crossed the surgeon’s craggy features?
“I’m doing this for the woman I love, Matt,” said Hovarth. “You don’t know how she’s suffered these past five years.”
“And you don’t think I’ve suffered, you bastard?”
“Turn around, Matt,” Hovarth said with what sounded like compassion, “and perhaps you’ll witness a healing miracle.”
Hendrick’s first impulse was to dive at the man, wrest the weapon from his grip, and somehow effect the rescue of Samantha from Maa
tje and the congregation. His second, more reasoned thought was to obey the surgeon’s command, bide his time until the opportunity arose to do something.
He turned to face the gathering down below then began walking.
He calmed his rage as he approached the congregation, and it came to him that it would be rash to act in haste. There was no need to attempt Samantha’s rescue—at least not immediately. When the human corpse that had undergone kashanshar a month ago was revealed to be well and truly dead, then would be the time to act. In the confusion and rage that would reign then, as the congregation learned of Jacobius’s duplicity, he would take advantage of the resulting mayhem and attempt to part Hovarth from his weapon.
Behind him, the surgeon said, “Okay, you can lower your hands now. But remember, one wrong move . . .”
They came to the amphitheatre and the gathering of aliens and humans. Hendrick made out Malagasy citizens and Europeans, towering over their Avoelian hosts. They were so intent on the ritual taking place before them that they hardly noticed his arrival. Ahead, Father Jacobius was chanting something as the four Avoel braided the root strands around the stiffened corpse of Lalla’s mother.
Hendrick felt pressure at the base of his spine, and Hovarth whispered in his ear, “Move. Over there.”
The surgeon shepherded Hendrick towards the tall figure of his wife, standing at the rear of the gathering. At her feet was the suspension pod, and it was all Hendrick could do to stop himself falling to his knees and embracing the streamlined container.
Maatje turned from the ritual and watched him approach. He had expected a show of contempt, an expression of hatred or disgust on her broad, handsome features. He was surprised when she smiled like some religious convert in the throes of ecstasy. Her face, even in the half-light, appeared radiant, flushed with joy.
“Matt,” she said. “This is a miracle . . .”
“It’s a sham,” he began.
“How can you say that? Cynical to the last. Don’t you have any emotion in that cold heart of yours? Any compassion . . . ? How hellish it must be to be you!”
He shook his head. He’d heard these words, in varying combinations, many times before. She had scorned his rationalism, used it against him to distance herself from him after the death of their daughter.
She said, “How did you find us?”
He looked away from her smiling face and focussed on Jacobius, who was uttering rapturous prayer as the aliens completed their braiding of the corpse.
“It’s what I did, remember? Find missing persons . . .”
He felt a bitter stab of recollection. She had once commented that while his profession was that of finding missing people, he had never succeeded in finding himself.
He went on. “I had a tip-off. I should have known you’d be drawn to such . . .” He stopped himself and then said, “You don’t seem that surprised to see me.”
She laughed. “Oh, I knew you were on your way . . .” The way she said this, with such certainty, made him curious. He was about to question her when the crowd before him moved as one, led by Father Jacobius. They walked up the incline, up the far bank of the amphitheatre, and Maatje, Hendrick, and Hovarth followed, the surgeon pulling the suspension pod like a sledge.
A minute later they arrived at a bulbous root, and the crowd came to a halt with a collective, expectant murmur. Hendrick was near the front of the congregation now, with a clear view of Father Jacobius and the Avoel bearing the stone blade.
He saw Maatje reach out and grasp her lover’s hand. Hovarth’s attention was on Jacobius and the swollen root. Hendrick could move swiftly, relieve the surgeon of the weapon, but to what end? In minutes, the truth of the holy man’s deception would be revealed to all.
The alien approached the bulging root, blade drawn. Hendrick made out the shape of a human being within the caul, a dark figure crosshatched by the braided root system. The crowd drew a collective indrawn breath as the alien began, with swift slashing moves, to cut the membrane.
Maatje stepped forward, her gaze intent.
Hendrick experienced a swift pang of sympathy for the woman, but it was soon quashed. He knew it was unworthy of him, but he couldn’t help feeling that she deserved the disappointment about to be visited on her.
Father Jacobius intoned, “And the faithful will witness a miracle, the resurrection of those death would wish to subdue. Faith is great!” he sang.
Despite what Lalla had said about the pastor being an evil, cynical con man, Hendrick knew that he really did believe that the dead would return to life. The passion of the righteous suffused Jacobius’s features as he stared at the working aliens, and his ringing tones swelled in the vastness of the cavern. “And lo! Faith is rewarded. The dead do walk again. Our prayers are answered and our loved ones returned to our loving embrace . . .”
Hendrick stared as the alien, with increasing care, drew its blade closer to the corpse within the root system and cut away the last of the braided matter. His heartbeat was loud in his ears and he felt suddenly dizzy.
He made out the dim human shape, its outline coated in some thin grey covering like a soiled winding sheet. The alien reached out and sliced away this last membrane, and the old man moved his head.
Hendrick gasped, his vision swimming. He felt a surge of disbelief, and a concomitant fountaining of hope. If indeed the dead could be brought to life, then Samantha . . .
Hendrick stared and the head moved again, fell forward—not with life but with the natural momentum of something inert being released from its support. The last of the membrane was drawn from the old man, and the Avoel stood back to reveal a skeletal corpse, its skin decomposing. Then the stench of decomposition reached the congregation, and a cry of mixed despair and rage was heard from a hundred throats.
Hendrick experienced a complex set of emotions as the crowd surged around him: self-loathing that he had submitted to credulity and wishfulfilment, followed by a surge of hope. Maybe now . . .
He turned to where Hovarth had been standing, intent on surprising the surgeon, knocking him to the ground and grabbing the weapon. In the surging melee, Hovarth, Maatje, and the canister were lost to sight. He heard Jacobius crying, “Have faith! We must not be downcast that this time . . .” But the rest of his pleas were lost in the cries of the enraged congregation.
Then Hendrick caught sight of Maatje and Hovarth fleeing up the opposite incline, hauling the container in their wake. He set off after them, hoping to reach Hovarth without being seen. When he was a matter of metres from the surgeon, however, Hovarth heard him approaching and turned. Hendrick dived at Hovarth, and Maatje screamed at him with despair and anger.
Before Hendrick could stop him, the surgeon raised the pulse gun and fired.
Hendrick desperately reached out for the silver container as the pulse slammed into his chest. He felt himself collapse and slip into instant oblivion.
• • •
I’m feeling terrible, but at least we found Matt . . . It’s chaos down here, but at least it’s allowing us to get away without being noticed.
I’ve got to tell him. I will! Once we get out of here and reach Lalla’s truck, I’ll tell him what I did, tell him about Maatje, and just hope he can find it in that good heart of his not to hate met.
And then, once Matt leaves Avoeli for Earth, then I’ll say to Lalla, No one else. Just you. Me and you. Forever.
TEN
HENDRICK FOUND HIMSELF BORNE ALONG AGAIN, CARRIED by more than one person, only this time his senses were not anaesthetised. He felt pain in his chest, where the pulse had impacted, and nausea from the electrical charge that had scrambled his senses. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was beyond him. At least this time he knew Tiana was with him; he heard her breathing at her side, felt her hand clutching his.
As the pain in his chest mounted, he passed out again.
When he came to his senses, he was no longer being carried. He was sitting upright and being shaken back and forth. Th
is time he was able to open his eyes, and he found that he was in the passenger seat of a truck bouncing along a track through the jungle.
He turned his head. Tiana was driving, staring fixedly ahead. She turned and gave a big smile when he said her name.
“Don’t worry, Matt. We got you out of there . . .”
“What happened?” he croaked.
She passed him a canister of water and he drank gratefully. He gasped and took another drink.
Tiana said, “How are you feeling?”
“Rough. Nauseous.” He looked at her. The last time he’d seen Tiana she was lying on the ground, the victim of Hovarth’s pulse gun. “You?”
“I’m okay. Still a bit scrambled. But it’s passing. You’ll be okay in an hour or two.”
He asked again, “What happened?”
“When I came to my senses, it was hellish down there. The Disciples were fighting among themselves. And Father Jacobius . . .”
“What happened to him?”
She shook her head. “He’s dead. Someone knifed him.” She patted something on the seat beside her. “Lalla gave me the film. She thought it best that you take it to Earth, inform the authorities. Jacobius might be dead and the Church in chaos, but Jacobius wasn’t alone in the deception. She says that the authorities need to investigate, get to the bottom of the corruption.”
He took another long swallow of water. “I’ll do that.” He looked through the window at the passing jungle. It appeared to be twilight out there; Fomalhaut’s ruddy glow showed as a smear above the horizon. He’d lost all track of time.
“How long have I been out? And where are we?”
“You were unconscious for more than ten hours, Matt. You were hit with a bigger jolt than me and Lalla.”
“I was closer,” he said.
“We’re a couple of hours from Appallassy,” Tiana went on. “We’ve been travelling through the night.”
He sat up, recalling his last memory of events beneath the jungle. Hovarth and Maatje escaping with the pod containing Samantha. He felt a surge of despair.
“Maatja, Hovarth . . . ?” he said.